Page 118 of When Hearts Awaken

So, I’ll be dancing the finale performance at the Met Opera next month, then the show will be over.

Then I’ll find out if I can sit for the promotion evaluation.

I shove the nervousness to the back of my mind as I tighten my grip on the balloons and the present for Belle, who’s having her baby shower today.

But this time, the milestone doesn’t bring with it a lash of envy or the pang of grief I’m used to experiencing whenever I think about the girls moving on without me.

This time, only joy lights up my chest, and I know who to thank for that.

“Better not let him know, or else he’ll gloat,” I murmur to myself, thinking of Charles.

After that day at the hospital, we’ve grown even closer. There’s a lightness in his frame I haven’t seen before. The weight of what happened to his sister must’ve been haunting him, just like how my past was always lurking in the shadows. While we weren’t able to visit his sister that day, I was thankful he shared with me the trauma he tried to hide behind his charisma and smiles.

My sleep has been better and more restful. The dark eye circles I thought were permanently etched onto my skin have now faded. The monster’s voice still occasionally haunts me when I least expect it, but for the most part, I’ve been able to keep my past firmly in the past.

My Odette is flawed, that much hasn’t changed, but my Odile is as strong as ever, and I’ve come to terms with it. Perhaps I’m creating a new dance for other girls like me out there. Maybe a young girl with a checkered past is hiding backstage, watching me dance the white swan—beautiful but imperfect—and she’d feel seen somehow.

For the first time in years, I have a new feeling percolating in my chest…a spark of light, a twinge of excitement.

I have a wonderful boyfriend who doesn’t shy away from the darkest parts of me, the ability to enjoy panty-melting sex, a relatively successful ballet tour in a lead dancer role under my belt.

Charles and I have spent every other day together, either in his place on the Upper East Side or mine. He’d complain about my choice of horror movies and taste in fried foods and I’d gripe about his penchant for foreign language films and his snooty love for fine wines from impeccable vintages.

“This is for you,” he murmured last Saturday before wrapping his arms around me from behind when he stepped into my apartment. He started kissing my neck, his fingers grazing the swath of skin between my sweater and my leggings. The damn man has mastered all my erogenous zones.

“J’aime ton odeur, ton goût, tes sons. Ton corps me rend fou.”He softly nipped me, and I moaned, my pussy throbbing from the sensations. The man had to be a vampire in another life.

“Not fair, you’re breaking out French. I can’t win this one.” I leaned into his embrace, finding him already hard and poking at my backside.

He chuckled. “If I knew foreign languages would make you wet, I’d have broken it out a long time ago. I speak multiple languages—French, Italian, and some Welsh. And what I just said was, ‘I love your smell, your taste, your sounds. Your body drives me insane.’”

Charles slid his hand under my sweater and grabbed my breast, thumbing the pebbled nipple. “Fuck, I can’t get enough of you. You’ve made me an insatiable caveman. Netflix and chill is overrated, let’s skip to dessert.”

A snort tumbled out of my mouth and he froze, staring at me quizzically. “What?”

“You know Netflix and chill is code name for sex, not watching TV, right?” Reminded of the purpose of the date night—to watch the latest slasher film I’d been looking forward to—I pulled his hand out of my sweater and grabbed the bag from him. I peeked inside.

Carrot cake with cream cheese frosting from Estelle’s. The best of the best. My mouth waters.

“What did you have to do to snag these? They are sold out by eight each morning.”

I swallowed a gasp as he pulled me back against him and peppered kisses down my throat to my collarbone.

“I sold my kidney,” he whispered, “and it was worth it to see that smile on your face.”

Heat traveled up my body, and I rolled my eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Only for you, minx. Only for you. So, Netflix and chill?” he murmured, amusement in his voice as he hoisted me up in his arms and walked us toward the bedroom.

I clench my thighs together as I remember the rest of the weekend when I indulged in a lot of carrot cake and a lot of him. I used to think Charles Vaughn was the god of thunder, but I was clearly wrong.

He’s an incubus, a sex demon. Doling out orgasms like candy.

I’m thankful he’s taught me to love my body again.

Baby shower for two hours and then fun times in the actual shower with him later this evening.

I giggle and clap a hand over my mouth.

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